


A Mathematical Analysis of Heartbreak

by enjcltaire



Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Angst, Confusion, Daisy is a pure smol, Daisy is confused, F/F, Hazel's feelings are unknown, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-03-31 19:31:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13981815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjcltaire/pseuds/enjcltaire
Summary: Daisy is confused about her feelings towards Hazel, and decides to take the mathematical approach.No spoilers whatsoever.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally a fic from Daisy's POV? Wild, I know, but I really enjoyed writing this. It was definitely more of a challenge as I picked up on Hazel's writing style waaay more easily from the books, but honestly Daisy is so lovely to write and I kinda love this fic. I hate writing angst bc I love my babies far too much, maybe I'll write a follow up from this where Daisy gets her happy ending?? Who knows. As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated, hope you enjoy x

I look up from my dinner plate. The one thing that annoys me more than ignorant people is the way I can never stop my hands shaking when I see Hazel. It takes me a while, but I can get it to stop eventually. All the same, it really is rather annoying when I am trying to get something done, whether it’s composition or a murder case, and I can barely hold a pencil still.

Hazel smiles at me from across the table. I smile back, feeling clumsy. I have read Hazel’s casebooks, even though she doesn’t know, and she talks about being awkward and not knowing what to say in certain situations. This is something I usually have no trouble with. I can walk up to a stranger and introduce myself as the Honourable Daisy Wells without flinching. Recently, though, I have found it more and more difficult to talk to Hazel.

It’s odd, because after a few minutes, I settle into my normal rhythm, the rhythm that Hazel and I have been in for the entire time I’ve known her. I can’t explain it, but it’s the kind of feeling that is so important, so embedded somewhere deep inside me, that I feel like I’m not whole when I don’t have it. It feels like a wave in my chest when I’m talking with Hazel and she does that aggravating smile which I’ve found isn’t actually aggravating at all, it’s more like another adjective that ends in -ing, the kind of word that’s usually right at the forefront of my brain but somehow seems to completely vanish when she looks at me with her brown eyes and I’m captivated. That’s it. Captivating.

You understand of course, I don’t use such adjectives sparingly. That kind of adjective is usually reserved entirely for thrilling murder cases, and even then it’s only really acceptable on the very best ones. Being with Hazel, though...that’s better than any kind of murder case. Well, not as good as the very best ones, of course, but it comes very close, and I can’t say that of many things in life.

I’ve expressed before that one of the most irritating feelings is not understanding what’s going on in your head. Hazel simply doesn’t seem to understand this. That, of course, is because she has a simple brain, and mine is far more complex (when I say things like that it makes my stomach hurt and I feel a sort of guilt which I’ve never experienced before. This is exactly what I mean). I’ve been rather bored recently, so I took to attempting to explore my brain. This is something I’ve never had to do before, and I have to say it is simply the worst to not be able to understand what you’re feeling at the drop of a hat, especially if you’re me. Nevertheless, I tried to do this entirely without judgement. Even I get confused sometimes, and Hazel tells me that is perfectly alright. I’m not sure I believe her.

My findings were very interesting enough. I decided to let my mind wander as best I could without filtering my thoughts. I admit this was very difficult, but I got used to it after a few tries, and then I decided to search through the things I wrote and see if any words appeared more often than others. I won’t pretend this wasn’t confusing and slightly unnerving, but on counting I discovered I had written Hazel’s name a grand total of 76 times in the space of a week. If I am being purely analytical, this suggests that I think about Hazel a lot, as her name appears much more frequently than anyone else’s, or in fact any other word at all. I thought about plotting a graph to show this data in a way that was more accessible, but then I realised I really didn’t need to. The fact of the matter was staring me in the face in the form of 76 tally marks on a sheet of scrap paper.

Incredulously, it took this time consuming experiment, along with the fact that I think about Hazel’s eyes an awful lot, for me to realise that I have some feelings that are apparently considered to be “non-platonic” towards my best friend. It took me a while to come to terms with this label, but now I am left with anger directed only towards myself for not realising this sooner. For a very clever person I really can be rather stupid.

This, I suppose, explains why my hands shake when I am with Hazel. I am, what some people call in love, with Hazel Wong.

“Daisy? Are you going to eat that?” Hazel asks, breaking me out of my trance. I feel my cheeks turn red and a stab in my chest. She looks at me innocently, eyes wide and smiling, and my heart starts beating at a speed that I instinctively think makes me require urgent medical attention. It is difficult to repress logic, but as the days go by, I am discovering more and more how love is the least logical thing on this Earth.

I shake my head and push my bowl of treacle sponge and custard across the table with trembling fingers. “No, you can have it.” Hazel grins and dug her spoon into the soft cake. I watch, blinking, as she puts it into her mouth. “Are you alright?” she says between spoonfuls. I nod, and after a pause I answer, “Just tired.”

“If you say so,” she says with a smile, and I look at the floor. She looks so beautiful sitting there with those big brown eyes. If I stay any longer I may say something I regret. Just as I am about to stand up, she interrupts me,

“I got a letter from Alexander,” she tells me excitedly. What were previously miniature stabs in my chest are now stabs from someone with a sword, and I cannot breathe. It feels like someone has walked straight over me and drawn all the air out of me. I read a book on love, but I struggle to recall what it said now. It talked about different chemicals, and the science of it all, but I can’t think of anything less scientific than what I’m feeling right now. My body is numb and I am unable to move. For a moment I think about how easy life would be if the world was all scientific, but it seems I have also lost the ability to think properly, the one thing that I pride myself on. Hot tears prick my eyes but I ignore them. I can’t cry in front of Hazel. Not even when my brain, the only thing I can always rely on, has failed me. Not even then.

I am distantly aware that Hazel is still talking, and when I refocus I see that her cheeks are pink and her smile is twice as wide as it was when she was talking to me earlier today. I cannot hear what she is saying. When I think she has stopped speaking, and I can only guess because her muffled words are no longer mixed with the terrible buzzing in her ears, I give a painful smile and stand up. “I’ve got to do some prep,” I say in a croaky voice. “I’ll see you later.”

“Alright,” Hazel says, looking slightly confused but not mentioning it. “Bye, Daisy.”

I don’t answer. As soon as I leave the dining room, I am crying as if the tears will never stop, tears of anger, sadness, pain and Hazel Wong in love with Alexander, in love with a boy and in love with someone who isn’t and will never be me.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hazel finds Daisy in the dorm room after she leaves the dining room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! You asked, you got. At first I was hesitant to write this but I think it turned out quite nice. Daisy is hard to write but so so lovely. Many thanks to the love I got on the first chapter, this has been the most popular of my MMU fics so far and my personal favourite, so I'm really glad you're all enjoying it. I hope this closing chapter lives up to expectations. Feedback and opinions welcome. Thank you again for the love and support. xxx

“Daisy?”

I tense up. The dorm is dark and I am laying in bed with my head under the pillow. I made excuses to Matron after dinner and came straight here. I can’t think in Prep, not properly, not even when it’s quiet, which is rare. You could cut the atmosphere in there with a knife when someone’s been talking too much and the masters or mistresses get angry. No, it’s too loud in there, no matter if people are talking or not, because my brain won’t shut up. And I can’t be around Hazel in this state.

“Daisy? Are you in here?”

I don’t answer. I shut the curtains as soon as I came in here, switched the lights off and told Matron to tell Hazel, Lavinia, Kitty and Beanie not to disturb me until later. Trust Hazel to ignore her completely and come to check on me. I smile to myself sadly. She never would have done that when I first met her. She’s changed so much because of me and I’ve never loved her any less. I loved her just as much as I do now when she turned up, shaking like a leaf and wide-eyed, not speaking unless spoken to. And now, after everything, I’m the one who’s fallen deep into a mess of tangled feelings. I’m the one crying quietly in the dorm room and I’m the one who can’t speak to my own best friend without getting tongue-tied. And she’s in love with Alexander Arcady.

“Daisy? Matron said you were in here.”

My heart sinks as I realise there’s no point pretending I’m not here any more. I sit up. “Hazel?” I say, surprised by the croaky voice that leaves my mouth. Somewhere in the back of my head the detective in me is pleased that I have such a good disguise, but I mentally switch that part of my brain off. What is there to pretend? Stomach ache or not, I don’t have the energy to be anything but genuine. Does it really matter that I’m not saying the whole truth when I’m showing it on my face?

Hazel switches on the light and comes running over. I smile weakly. “Sorry, I must have been asleep,” I lie. She shakes her head.

“Daisy! I was worried? Are you alright? Everyone’s going simply mad in Prep without you. I had to come and see what the problem was. You never miss Prep, Daisy.” She sits down on my bed and takes my hand. I feel a jolt of electricity shoot up my wrist and a fever breaks out over my body. I push my hair back and try to remain calm.

“Really, Hazel, you are ridiculous. There’s nothing to worry about. I have a stomach ache, that’s all. I think I ate something that didn’t agree with me. Perhaps it was that fish pie. You know how I get with seafood sometimes. It makes me awfully sick.”

Hazel is silent. Looking at her and feeling myself go dizzy, I wonder if I really am sick. I feel dreadful. My stomach begins to lurch as though I might throw up, and for a second I think maybe all this time I’ve just been delirious. I don’t really love Hazel, I’m just ill. But then I realise I’ve felt like this for months and I haven’t thrown up since the ipecac in second form. I don’t think I’m ill.

“Daisy?” I open my eyes, suddenly becoming aware that Hazel has been talking to me. Any words I had in my head suddenly disappear and my throat dries. I attempt to clear it and my breath sticks like syrup, blocking my speech. Hazel bends down to look at me. My brain works quickly as I try to think up an excuse. But she’s so close to me, so close I can feel her warm, sweet breath on me, and it feels as if my brain is dead. I fight the urge to get angry with myself.

“Sorry,” I croak out, pushing myself up in the bed. “I’m alright. Really, I am.” Hazel shakes her head. “Stop it, Daisy, you’re so silly. You’re not well.” I push her off rather harshly, then feel guilt bubble in my stomach. My insides lurch and I wonder if I’m going to throw up again. I think Hazel senses it, as she casts a worried glance my way. “Daisy? Do you need me to fetch Matron?”

I shake my head rapidly, pushing off my bed covers and standing up on weak, shaky legs. “Gosh, no. No need to make this into something it isn’t. I’m perfectly alright.”

Hazel looks at me, doubt crossing her face in vile shadows. I feel an inexplicable pain in my chest. My heart is begging me to tell her so I can stop all this upset, but my brain isn’t listening. It’s so awfully difficult sometimes when you have a brain that just won’t be quiet, not even when you’re feeling dreadful and want nothing more than to just lie still and think about nothing. I envy the people who can think about nothing. At very rare moments I can turn the volume down just enough to feel peaceful, but even then the feeling of Hazel in the back of my mind just won’t go   
away.

I never ever thought this would, could happen to me. For the past four years everyone has been going simply mad about boys, and all the while I was skipping around happily and playing the class joker, inwardly feeling like some sort of alien for not understanding them. And then a short, fat and the only person I’ve ever met with an intellect anywhere near mine, walked into Deepdean, straight off a boat from some far off place halfway around the world, and everything changed.

When I was younger, I thought that if there was a day when I fell in love with a boy, I’d feel relieved. Well, if this is love, then I want no part in it, because it does not feel like I thought it would.

“Hazel,” I say, walking towards her. She looks at me earnestly. “Daisy?”

My heart beats in my chest. I reach out to hold her hand but can’t. The words are sticking in my throat again like knives, knives, murder, murder, Hazel. Words, prep, prep, Hazel. Throat, sore throat, sore throat, illness, illness, ipecac, ipecac, Hazel. Hazel. HAZEL. ALWAYS HAZEL.

“Daisy, what’s wrong?”

My hands are shaking. I can’t speak. I have to say something. And if I can’t speak, then I only have one option. I lift one heavy hand with iron fingers to Hazel’s cheek, and as if moving of their own accord, my lips close the gap between us, and press to Hazel’s.

And logic starts screaming. But I can’t hear any words, just noise, and a second later it isn’t even noise, it’s quiet, and then the world is falling to pieces, and then I can’t hear anything at all except the beat of my heart.

I’ve learnt a lot of things from Hazel. One day I’ll make a list. But for now, I’ll share one thing.

If you want to love happily, don’t listen to logic. They don’t fit together too well, so don’t try to make them fit. But even if you have a brain that works like mine, you can have a happy ending. And I never thought I’d get the chance to say that.


End file.
